Comfort Me
by INMH
Summary: Fill for the Les Miserables Kink Meme. AU: A Little Fall of Rain, with Enjolras and Grantaire at the barricade rather than Marius and Éponine. Warning: Major Character Death, Blood.


Comfort Me

**Rating:** PG-13/T

**Genre:** Tragedy/Romance/Drama/Angst

**Summary:** Fill for the Les Miserables Kink Meme. AU: A Little Fall of Rain, with Enjolras and Grantaire at the barricade rather than Marius and Éponine. Warning: Major Character Death, Blood.

**Author's Note:** …Welp, I'm just gonna sit over here and contemplate how I joined a fandom full of masochists.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Les Miserables. It belongs to Victor Hugo.

[-]

"_Enjolras!_"

The air was thick with gunpowder, bangs and screams. Enjolras thinks he hears his name, but can only really afford to focus on the National Guardsman he's wrestling with on a precarious piece of furniture.

"_Enjolras on your left FOR CHRIST'S SAKE __**WATCH OUT!**_"

And then, to his left, someone jostles him roughly and the sound of a struggle ensues. On one hand, it knocks him off balance; on another, it also causes the guardsman to slip and stumble down the other side of the barricade just as Enjolras-

"_NO!_"

-hears a gun fire dangerously, dangerously close nearby, just to his left.

He doesn't get a chance to see what's happened, because everyone has gone very still and is very preoccupied with Marius, his torch and the barrel of gunpowder he's holding. Enjolras doesn't know whether to curse him or thank him, because in spite of the fact that he very nearly blew them all to kingdom come, their enemy has retreated for the time being. Enjolras takes the torch, hands it off to Courfeyrac, and wordlessly motions for Marius to climb down.

For a moment, Enjolras stays right where he is. His body is tense, still thinks there's a battle going on; the sudden silence and relative stillness is unnerving. It's only when a few droplets of rain hit his cheek that he's snapped back to reality. If it rains, the gunpowder is damaged. If the gunpowder is damaged, they are all dead. "Get the gunpowder, get it inside!" He calls to the others, and several rush to obey.

It is then that Enjolras glances down to his right and does a double-take. Grantaire is sitting on the ground at the foot of the barricade, his gaze distant, his body stiff and unmoving. Enjolras thinks that Grantaire is stunned, either from the battle or from Marius's intervention. Unfortunately, there's not time for it: Everyone has to help, everyone has to help salvage the gunpowder and other weapons, check over the wounded, pull any dead off to the side. Grantaire needs to snap out of it.

Enjolras sighs. He's never had to deal with a traumatized Grantaire before; drop-dead, painfully, ridiculously drunk, yes. But never traumatized. "Grantaire-" He begins, stepping forward to start his descent from his place on the barricade. But whatever he's about to say next dies away, fades into oblivion when he sees that the dark-haired man's hand is palm-up, and it is covered in blood. The dark stain spreading on his vest confirms that it is his own.

And then he thinks about where Grantaire is sitting.

And then he thinks about the voice yelling to him.

And then he thinks about the shot he heard.

It clicks, and an icy hand grips Enjolras's heart.

He slides down the stack of furniture and stumbles to a stop next to the cynic. But once he gets there, he doesn't know what to say: 'You're shot?' 'You took a shot that was meant for me?' 'Why did you do that?' 'Thank you for saving my life?' The words all sound reasonable, but Enjolras can't speak.

_This is my fault, _He realizes, a wave of horror and guilt hitting him at once. _This is my fault, this is my fault because he's not supposed to be here. He doesn't believe in this, he never has._ If it were anyone else, the guilt would be far less; everyone else had joined the cause with belief in their hearts. Grantaire is not a believer- he is the cynic who foiled every one of Enjolras's points at their meetings, rolled his eyes at the idea of equality for all and spouted some remarks about how everyone was equal when they were dead.

Grantaire shuts his eyes and shakes his head when Enjolras tries to get a better look at the injury. "No, no, stop that, come on. No use in that." He tries to push the blonde's hand away, but his grip is shaky and uncoordinated.

"Combeferre, _Joly_, get over here." Enjolras calls without heeding him.

"No, Enjolras."

"You'll be all right." Oh God, the guilt- the guilt, the overwhelming guilt. Not only has Grantaire been shot for a cause he doesn't believe in, he's shot because Enjolras couldn't bother to heed a warning when he heard it.

"Oh, but I _am_ fine, really. It doesn't hurt much at all." Enjolras thinks that Grantaire's smile is more painful than a bullet, then. How can he smile? Does he not realize how badly he's hurt? There's not enough alcohol on his breath for him to be completely unaware of how bad it is.

The rain starts to fall a little harder, and Enjolras tries to tug the edge of a table sticking out from the pile over Grantaire's head. But Grantaire just chuckles. "C-Come now, Enjolras. I've got a hole in my stomach, what's a little rain going to hurt? Don't do that. You'll bring down the entire barricade like a stack of cards, and then everyone will end up dead."

Joly starts to approach, but it's Combeferre that stops him with a hand. Enjolras sees Combeferre watching, assessing; and his heart sinks when the medical student's eyes darken and his shoulders fall into a slow slump. He looks at Joly, Joly looks back, and without hearing a word of conversation between the two Enjolras knows what the verdict is.

If there's anyone else watching, Enjolras does not notice. He can't afford to; Grantaire just saved his life, and deserves Enjolras's attention for however many minutes (if that) he has left.

"I'm sorry," Enjolras whispers. "I'm sorry."

Grantaire's smile hasn't faded, and if anything, it takes on that mischievous edge it always does when he's out to get Enjolras's goat. "D-Did I just hear an apology from you? Goodness, I _must_ b-b-be d-dying." He laughs, and there's a tremor shaking his body now.

"_Grantaire_." But the pained exasperation in his voice does not deter the drunkard. He just snickers harder.

"Come now, it's just- just a-" Suddenly, Grantaire shudders, and blood begins to trickle from the corners of his mouth. For a moment, he coughs and gasps and shivers and his hands clutch Enjolras as though he's the only thing still anchoring him to life. "D-Don't leave." He manages when the fit recedes a bit, and now Grantaire doesn't sound amused; he sounds afraid. "P-P-_Please_ d-don't leave."

"I'm not, I won't." Enjolras assures, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and holding him close, pressing his face into his hair. At this point, he doesn't _care_ if other people are watching: Grantaire's newfound fear is ripping at Enjolras's already guilt-ridden heart. "It's all right. I'm here."

A hand comes up and covers his. "Thank you for that. That's what I need." Grantaire mumbles, head tipping onto Enjolras's collar. He looks and sounds exhausted, and almost all of the color has gone from his face. He shivers again, but Enjolras senses that it's more from the rain and cold and tightens his hold.

"This isn't right." He whispers, and Grantaire makes a little noise of confusion. "This shouldn't have happened."

"And why… Not?" Grantaire's breathing is starting to slow.

"You don't believe in the cause, do you?"

Grantaire's chuckle is bitter and weak. "Not… Not even death c-could change _that_."

"Then why throw your lot in with us? Why die for the cause if you don't believe in it? I didn't ask it of you."

"You're… My… My friends." It's clear that he has to put all his effort into speaking. Enjolras is not optimistic about how much longer he can last. "And I… Chose. That's not… Anyone's fault… But mine." Grantaire shook his head, but the movement was sluggish and uneven. "Besides, I gra…grabbed it. The gun. 'way from you. Tha's how I… Tha's how it happened. My fault."

His body is going slack, and his breath is a wheeze. Grantaire's eyes are drooping, and his hand starts to slip away until Enjolras catches it again. "You did it on purpose? But _why?_" Enjolras thinks that maybe he should just shut up and let Grantaire die in peace, but damn it, he doesn't understand.

Grantaire looks up at him, and the sigh he utters is a death-rattle. But as miserable as it sounds, it's followed by a smile. "Don't re-remember?"

"Remember what?"

"I… D-Don't… Believe. In… In… Anything." Grantaire tries after that, he really does, but he can't force anymore air through his lungs, and there's something pleading in his eyes as he looks up at Enjolras. The leader wracks his brain for whatever it is Grantaire is trying to say, whatever it is he's supposed to remember-

And then, from an age ago, he recalls:

"_You don't believe in anything_."

"But you believe in me."

Grantaire smiles, shuts his eyes, and his head rests heavier on Enjolras's collar than before. The sound of his breath stops, and all Enjolras can hear is the rain striking the chairs and tables and boards and other assorted items of the barricade. The hand he holds in his own is cold and limp, but he can't bring himself to drop it.

Enjolras's chest heaves threateningly, eyes stinging (Oh God he hasn't cried since he was a child) and with trembling lips, he places a kiss on Grantaire's forehead.

And then he lets the tears fall.

-End


End file.
